


Misery Loves Company

by KittyHawke



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Booker-centric, Dreams, Friendship, Gen, He is a lonely boi, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyHawke/pseuds/KittyHawke
Summary: Booker keeps having dreams of his friend Nicky meeting a bearded man. He knows what this means- another friend is set to bite the dust. Not on his watch.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 46
Kudos: 146





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chapter and first Old Guard fic that isn't centred around Joe and Nicky. They're here, but it's mainly about Booker. This is a modern AU so everything is made up and the points don't matter. I hope that you will be willing to give it a try and that you enjoy it.

**Monday**

_Booker was standing in a shop that he didn’t recognise. It was night time and for some reason all the lights were out, aside for a candle on the cashier’s desk. That candle allowed him to recognise Nicky as he paid for a torch and some batteries. The person behind him, a man with a striking black beard, said something to him. Booker couldn’t hear anything, but he saw Nicky’s surprise when he turned around and the smile on his face. He replied. The man stepped forward to buy his own items, which appeared to be a multi-pack of water and a punnet of strawberries._

_He said something to Nicky and Booker recognised the look on his friend’s face. It was the same look he had received when Nicky invited him to come and watch movies at his flat- recognition of a lonely soul and an offer to be his friend. They walked out together and Booker followed them to a nearby park, one he had visited before with Andy and Nicky. It was close to Nicky’s flat, one of his favourite places to take a walk in. Booker watched them as they settled on the grass beside one of the statues and the bearded man started sharing his strawberries._

_They were smiling at each other, talking as easily as if they had known each other for years. Booker had seen those dopey looks before …_

He woke up, discovering that he was lying like a starfish on top of his bed rather than underneath it. The bottle of wine beside the bed confirmed that he passed out. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, still struggling to make sense of the dream. He hadn’t seen Nicky for three weeks and was surprised that his mind could conjure him in such detail, right down to the details of his jacket. He wasn’t sure who the bearded man was. Perhaps someone he’d walked past in the street, for he had certainly never met him before.

What concerned him was the bad feeling in his gut, as if that wasn’t just a dream, but a premonition. No, he was letting his imagination get the best of him. Last time was a mere coincidence and he was being paranoid. He stood up and hobbled across the room as his legs tried to remember how to walk, pulling his suitcase onto the floor. He really should have started packing last night, but he had been so nervous that something would go wrong and had taken a few drinks to calm his nerves and…well, the rest was history. He had four hours left before the flight. That was plenty of time.

One hour later his suitcase was packed and he had obsessively checked his flight documentation six times. He had his boarding pass to go and come back, he had his passport, he had his health insurance policy. He had gone round the apartment twice to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything essential and was, while not confident, at least unable to remember what might be missing. Now was as good a time as any. He still needed to get this behemoth of a suitcase downstairs, get a taxi to the airport and make his way through security before he could finally relax.

Anticipation for holidays was infinitely better than actually embarking upon them. If he didn’t want to see Andy so much, he would just go back to bed and spare himself all of this stress.

She had left for India six months ago, together with Quynh, to assist with the renovation of a hospital. Nicky had already been out to see her, but Booker had been held back by a hatred of long distance travel and a distrust of any place that required a laundry list of vaccinations to enter. It was clear by now that Andy wasn’t coming home for a while, however, and he missed her. She was his first and probably closest friend, and she was cashing in her air miles to get him first class for the journey. Honestly that had been the deciding factor, so now after three false starts, Booker was finally due to visit her and hopefully keep their friendship intact.

It had already been strained after she met Quynh.

He couldn’t help thinking back to that. He’d had a very odd dream then too, randomly creating the image of Andy in a taxi with a Vietnamese girl. She had laughed when he told her and accused him of watching too many shows about cars. Two weeks later he’d come home to find that Vietnamese girl in his kitchen, introducing herself as Andy’s new girlfriend. They had met in a taxi, sharing the fare between them on the way home after a night out.

After that, he had to share Andy with Quynh. She was always there whether in body or in spirit. Booker didn’t mind her, but she wasn’t a friend and he felt a bit like a territorial dog when Andy brought her along to their hangouts. He was a horrible friend, he knew, but at least he kept his jealousy inside. And then Quynh had taken her away entirely, far across the world. In one fell swoop, he felt like he’d lost not only Andy, but Nicky too.

Nicky had been Quynh’s friend first, but he got along well with Andy and had adopted Booker as his fellow third wheel when their respective ladies got together. Their friendship had become more strained lately as well. He loved Nicky, but it felt as if the core of their bond had departed for foreign shores, and it was more of a strain to make time for each other.

He felt nausea roll his stomach and wondered whether the alcohol was to blame, or something else.

Nicky was still his friend though. He didn’t want to lose him too.

Ignoring the painful jabs that warned him to get to the bathroom and throw up, he levered his suitcase off the bed and pulled it down the hall. As he put his hand on the door, the lights went out.

He looked up in surprise, trying the switch a few times. Maybe the fuse had blown. He went into the kitchen and checked the display on the microwave to make sure. It was blank. A look out of the window revealed that London was far darker than it was supposed to be, no squares of yellow light from homes and businesses.

Shit.

Thirty minutes later, driven more by hope than expectation, he was on the street and looking for a taxi. It took ten minutes before he saw one driving towards him and stuck his hand out. The driver obligingly stopped and rolled down the window.

“Thanks. I need to get to Heathrow” Booker said, already preparing to put his suitcase in the boot. The cab driver laughed and drove off.

*

Booker abandoned his suitcase in the middle of the room and fell onto the sofa, pressing his hands over his eyes. That was his one chance of first class gone. By the time he had saved up to try again, he and Andy might be friends in name only. It had been too long. He was an idiot, such an idiot. Why hadn’t he gone with Nicky? He lowered his hands and stared sadly into the darkness.

_The darkness._

He sat up, suddenly remembering how unnaturally dim that shop in his dream had been. What were the chances? Maybe Nicky was onto something with his whole ‘fate and destiny’ bullshit. Booker was supposed to be gone for a month and, apparently, his subconscious had sent a warning that his absence might allow his only friend in this country might be snatched away.

He was going to need a few blackout supplies.

*

He found the right place by tracing Nicky’s journey in reverse, starting with the park and moving backwards until he recognised the shopfront from his dream. He stepped inside and was briefly floored by deja-vu, and then began to walk up and down the aisles like a tiger hunting for prey. His head swept left and right for Nicky, and his breath stopped when he turned a corner and saw him. He was wearing the blue jacket with the silver buttons that Booker had dreamed about. Oh God, Oh God…

“Nicky!” he called, desperation overtaking eloquence.

“Booker? Hello.” His surprise quickly smoothed out into a smile of welcome.

“What are you here for?” Booker asked.

“I need a torch and some batteries. And you?”

“Uh…” He glanced around the aisle they were in and said the first thing he saw. “Olives.”

Nicky gave him a strange look. “They’re non-perishable” Booker added.

“Okay.”

The shop bell rang and Booker felt the colour drain from his face as the bearded man came in, hands stuffed in his pockets, fortunately not looking at them.

“I was going to visit Andy” he blurted out.

“Oh, that was today? What bad luck. Will the flight be rescheduled?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt I’ll get first class again.”

Nicky looked sympathetic. Booker glanced desperately towards the bearded man, who now had his back to them and was perusing the fruit.

“Andy had to use up all her air miles to get me upgraded” he added. _Come on, just pick some fucking fruit and go!_

“That’s a shame, Booker.”

“Did you go first class?” he asked.

“No, economy, but they take good care of you on the overnight flight. It’s very cold, but they have movies and food and you can sleep. Don’t be discouraged,” Nicky put a hand on his arm and smiled. “I’m sure they’ll reschedule the flight and you can still go.”

The bearded man had finally chosen his strawberries and was walking towards the cash desk. Booker relaxed marginally, but they weren’t out of the woods yet.

“What is India like?” he asked, desperate for anything to keep the conversation going.

“It is a beautiful country, full of contrasts. There are some places which are unbelievably rich and others where the poverty is heartbreaking.”

The bearded man picked up a multi-pack of water from the pile beside the desk, handed over his card and hefted the weight easily under one arm. Booker watched as he turned, pushed open the door and disappeared into the night. He breathed easily again.

“Booker?”

His attention snapped back to Nicky, who was waving a hand in front of his face. “Huh? Yeah, what?”

“I was going to take a walk in the park. Do you want to come with me? I can tell you more about India if you would like.”

“Oh. Uh, sure. Yeah, let’s go.”

He started walking and Nicky put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Don’t you want your olives?” he asked, pointing at the jars. The green liquid looked the sort of thing that a mortician would have on their shelves and Booker’s weak stomach turned.

“Oh yeah, thanks” he muttered, grabbing one and hurrying to the front of the store. He hoped these olives truly were non-perishable because they were going to live in the back of his cupboard for a very long time.


	2. Tuesday

**Tuesday**

The whole thing had worked out well, Booker thought. Not only had he averted a potential catastrophe, but Nicky had helped calm him down about the loss of his flight. There was nothing like tales of amoebic dysentery to make Booker glad that he was staying in this part of the world.

That night he dreamed of Nicky again. He was in a coffee shop, the interior of which Booker recognised at once. Back in university, the three of them plus Quynh had visited that place for their delicious hot chocolate as a weekend treat.

_Nicky took a cup of coffee from the counter and turned to go, concentrating on holding the hot liquid steady rather than on what was in front of him. He reached the door just as it opened and walked directly into another person, the coffee leaping from its cup and splashing against the man’s jacket. Nicky looked up in horror, and Booker realised that it was the bearded man again._

_Nicky began speaking quickly, frantically, but the bearded man laughed and wiped a hand over his jacket. It was leather, protecting him from being scalded, and it seemed that the coffee could be easily washed off. At least that’s what Booker guessed he was saying. He spoke again, pulling a notebook out of his backpack and writing something down. He tore the page out and handed it to Nicky._

_Was that his number? Had he just given his number out?_

At that point the dream ended and Booker scrambled to sit up. He couldn’t believe that this had happened again. Once was a coincidence, twice was suspicious, three times and he recognised it for the premonition that it was. He grabbed his phone and cursed at the time. It was already 11am. Nicky had the routine of a future kidnapping victim, his schedule never varying, so Booker knew that his lunch break would be happening in exactly two hours. There was no time to waste.

He was at the coffee shop at 1pm sharp, positioned at a table in the corner from which he could watch the door. Five minutes later, Nicky appeared and Booker swiftly made his move. He hurried around the perimeter of the room like a bad impression of a spy to end up at Nicky’s back, as if he’d just walked through the door.

“Hi Nicky.”

“Booker?” He turned, frowning and then smiling slightly. “Hello. What are you doing here?”

“Decided to take a break from the computer,” he said. This was the great advantage of working from home, the ability to take a break whenever he chose and follow his dreams, literally. “I’ve got a table in the corner. Do you want to come and join me?”

“I don’t know if I have time,” Nicky looked apologetically at his watch. “I only have 30 minutes on my lunch break.”

“Come on, we haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“No,” Nicky agreed cautiously. “No, we have not. Alright.”

He turned towards the counter and Booker quickly stepped in. “You go sit down. I’ll get it.”

Nicky looked at him strangely and he felt offended. He wasn’t that mean! A cup of coffee was nothing to get suspicious about.

“Thank you,” Nicky said. “I’ll have a decaf please.”

He handed over the money for it and walked away towards the table where Booker had left his jacket. He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped forward and ordered the two coffees, letting his eyes wander as he waited. If the dream was true, the bearded man should be arriving just as they were ready. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Nicky was reading at the table. Good.

His coffees were handed to him just as the bell above the door rang. A quick glance confirmed that the bearded man had joined the back of the queue. Wires trailed from his ears so at least he was unlikely to pay attention to anything around him. Booker ducked his head as he walked away.

Nicky had chosen the seat which faced towards the café, which was quite inconvenient, but Booker shifted his chair slightly in the hope of blocking the view with his head. He distributed the drinks and then pulled a flask out of his pocket, dashing some whiskey in the coffee. Nicky grimaced and Booker lifted a hand, silently asking that he share his judgement.

“I am glad to see you out of the house. You spend too much time in that shoebox” Nicky said instead, taking a sip.

“Well, it’s not my fault most of my interests are sedentary.”

“You need more fresh air, Book.”

They had had this conversation numerous times and Booker just let the words wash over his head now. Ironically Andy was far sportier than either of them, but had been far more willing to let Booker hide away in his ‘bat cave’ as she called it.

“What’s the point? Andy isn’t here and you and I don’t really do much together anymore” he said.

“I miss her too,” Nicky nodded. “We should try to see each other more.”

Booker’s mood suddenly plummeted. It had taken him far too long to realise that Nicky didn’t really give a damn about him. He was just nice and felt an obligation to Booker because their friends were dating, and not so far below the surface, he could sense that the Italian pitied him. Poor Booker who is so unlovable that no-one will spend time with him unless he is literally the only option they have.

He grabbed the coffee and took a huge gulp, wishing he’d put more whiskey in here. Nicky was just going to leave him anyway. If it wasn’t because of this bearded guy, it would be because he decided to run off and save elephants in Africa or something. He was a do-gooder like that.

“I can…” Nicky was still talking. “Non lo so…Go to one of your football matches with you?”

Booker scoffed and nearly choked on his coffee. “You hate football.”

“I don’t hate it. I just don’t understand it. Why does everyone need to sing insults at the other team?”

He smiled across the table. Nicky was so cute sometimes. The last time he’d tried to watch a football match, disappearing at half-time and citing boredom, he’d been so confused at why certain goals were disallowed. Offside was not a concept that existed in his mind. It was a shame for an Italian, Booker had said. They would shred his passport if he ever tried to go back.

“The waiting list to get a ticket for stadium matches is about six months long. I guess you can come over and watch it on TV if you really want.”

“You can come to me and watch it. Your flat is a dump,” Nicky said quickly. “And that doesn’t help you get more fresh air.”

“Then you can come and sit in the laundromat with me.”

“An enticing suggestion,” Nicky said, with that flat sarcasm which always managed to raise a smile from Booker. “I have to head back now. It’s good to see you.”

Booker turned to watch him go, and spied the bearded man on the other side of the room. He was sitting alone at a table by the window, muffin in one hand and a book in the other. Nicky didn’t seem to notice him.


	3. Wednesday

**Wednesday**

_Nicky was on a packed train, holding onto one of the bars and reading the newspaper over someone’s shoulder. The doors beeped to indicate that they were about to close and at that moment, the bearded man launched himself onto the platform and ran towards the train. Even inside a dream, Booker was incredulous. Nicky glanced up and saw him coming, and without even thinking, pushed his hand into the door to hold it open. The bearded man reached him and, lending his own strength, the two of them managed to create enough of a gap to let him inside. The whole drama took less than three seconds._

_The bearded man held the bar next to Nicky and Booker read his lips. “Thank you.”_

_A nod of acknowledgement, a slight double take, and Nicky smiled shyly. The bearded man spoke again, offered his hand. Nicky shook it, no doubt introducing himself._

Booker didn’t wait for the end of the dream, pulling himself back into the real world and gazing at the ceiling as if its cornices had done him personal harm. So this strange power wanted to challenge him. He would rise to it.

Four hours later he was lurking just inside the Tube station near Nicky’s work, pretending to read the map and glancing up every time he heard footsteps. The train was leaving in five minutes. It couldn’t be long now.

He turned his head towards thundering footsteps and saw his quarry rushing down the stairs into the station, face flushed red with panic beneath the beard. Booker sought to put on the most distressed expression he could muster. Time to earn his Oscar.

“Excuse me?” he called in French, stepping directly into the man’s path. He had to skid to a halt to avoid a collision. “Do you speak French?”

“A little” the bearded man said breathlessly, looking anxiously towards the security barriers. His accent was very good. Booker was idly impressed. Not many people in this country were capable of speaking his language without butchering it, and even fewer were inclined to try.

“I need to go to Islington, but I don’t know the right train to get. What line is this?”

“Um…” The bearded man’s eyes danced frantically before looking at him, and Booker saw the very moment that he made his decision. He moved towards the map and scanned it. “I don’t know the name, but it’s blue. What station are you looking for?” he asked.

“Angel” Booker said.

The man’s finger traced over the coloured lines and then tapped the map. “You need the black line. Take the train to King’s Cross and change there” he said, already moving around Booker.

“What platform goes to King’s Cross?”

“I’m sorry, I am only new to this city too!” he called back.

Booker watched him jam his ticket into the machine, tear it out and break into a run. He couldn’t make it. The dream had shown that he was within a second of missing the train originally, and that short delay would be enough to tip the scales. He pumped his fist in victory as he turned away, and tried to quell the small surge of guilt in his gut.

That evening he sent a text to Nicky. **How are you? Anything interesting happen today?**

**I am fine. I am trying a new recipe today.**

**What recipe?**

**Dobos torte. It’s a Hungarian cake. Would you like to be my taste tester?**

Booker looked up at the clock. The match would be starting in two hours and he was tempted to say no, he had a date with his armchair and a bottle of wine, but then he reconsidered. If the universe was plotting to steal Nicky from him, he should really make the most of the time he had.

**Is your TV fixed? The match is on tonight.**

**You can eat and watch.**

He smiled at the phone. **I will see you soon.**

Nicky smiled when he opened the door and, to Booker’s surprise, gave him a hug. “Come in. The cake is ready for you.”

“I brought the cards as well,” Booker said. “It’s been a while since we played poker and I know you hate football really.”

“You’re kind.”

Nicky patted his shoulder and led him into the kitchen. Booker took a seat at the table and Nicky cut a slice of cake and placed it on a plate in front of him, followed immediately by a small stack of £10 notes. Booker looked at the money and back at him.

“No,” he said. “I’m not Andy. I’m not doing this.”

Nicky folded his arms and shrugged. “How hard can it be to guess the ingredients of a cake?”

“Okay, you want to do that? Fine.”

Booker dug in his pocket and added his money to the pile, and then picked up a fork and took a bite of torte. He chewed it thoughtfully, unable to taste anything more than ‘cake’. He really didn’t have Andy’s impressive tastebuds. That girl had missed her chance to be a world-class food critic.

“Chocolate” he declared.

“What kind of chocolate?”

Booker’s face fell. There were only three kinds of chocolate, right? It was a matter of guessing. “Milk?” he said hesitantly. Nicky’s face lit up.

“No,” Booker swiftly backtracked. “Um, white?”

“It doesn’t count. You took two guesses.”

“Ugh, fine.” He took another bite of cake. “Caramel.”

Nicky nodded.

“There’s something crunchy in here,” he continued. “That’s some kind of nut, isn’t it?”

“What kind of nut?”

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Hazelnut.”

“Almond” Nicky sang triumphantly.

“Take your money,” Booker snapped, pushing the notes away and grabbing his plate. “I’m going to set up the cards and we’ll have a night of gambling fairly.”

“You wound me with your accusations,” Nicky said, spearing some cake for himself. “You forgot the buttercream.”

“I don’t give a shit" he retorted, throwing himself into an armchair and digging his fork into the cake.


	4. Thursday

**Thursday**

Last night had been fun. The cake money had been passed to and fro across the sofa as the cards fell, and Booker had wound up reclaiming his cash and a little bit of Nicky’s too, before his friend said that it was getting late and he didn’t want Booker to end up riding the Tube alone in the small hours of the morning. Nicky was a mother hen like that and Booker swallowed the bitter feeling that made him want to ask, if riding the Tube at this hour was so risky, why Nicky hadn’t asked him to stay over.

Nevertheless that was only a small pebble in the centre of the pleasant glow that followed him home. He actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much, or the last time he’d gone for an entire evening without drinking. It had been good.

He fell into bed and hoped for a deep, dreamless sleep.

_They were in an antique bookshop. Nicky walked in and headed directly towards one of the bookshelves, as if he knew what he was looking for. Just as he got there and reached for what Booker recognised as a copy of Alice in Wonderland, another hand appeared and snatched the book from before his eyes._

_Of course it was the bearded man. Nicky turned to him and started speaking passionately, too fast to read his lips, evidently ready for an argument. His opponent held the book to his chest and made his reply. It was like watching a tennis match, or a show with puppets, both of them trying to outdo each other with how many wild gestures they could make with their arms._

_All of a sudden, Nicky stopped arguing and looked startled. The bearded man too had lost his defensive posture and was smiling, rocking the book gently in his arms. To Booker’s surprise, they proceeded together to the cash desk where the bearded man handed over money for the book, and Nicky then led him towards the coffee bar on the top floor._

Booker scrambled awake and clenched the blanket between his fists. Nicky was getting bolder, huh? Apparently so was whatever force had cursed Booker with these dreams.

Fortunately he didn’t have to scour every bookshop in London to find them. He had recognised that shop as a place he’d visited often in university, annoying the proprietor by treating it as a library. He used to secret himself in the corner and read for as long as he could before getting caught. Everything in there had been too expensive for a perpetually broke student, but he had loved the history of these old books, each one containing something unique.

It had been a long time since he’d been back and he half-thought that the owner might chase him out with a broom, but there were no alarms when he walked in and no sign of his photo with a Do Not Serve notice on the wall. He waited by the window, out of the way, paying attention to the two copies of >em>Alice in Wonderland sitting side by side. A group of students came in fifteen minutes after his arrival and bought one, meaning that his time was fast approaching.

“Bonjour!”

He jumped out of his skin and turned, seeing the smiling bearded face right next to him. He may have been so fixated on the book that he forgot to check the door.

“Oh, hello” he muttered, hoping he didn’t sound as distressed as he felt.

“Hello!” The bearded man chuckled. “You speak English?

_Shit! Fuck! Merde!_ “Yes, I…”

He had no idea how to finish that sentence and was beyond relieved when the man kept smiling, apparently not seeing anything amiss.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I fall into my native tongue when I panic too. Did you find where you were going?”

For a second he didn’t remember what the man was talking about. “Yes, yes,” he spluttered. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad I could help. I’m Joe.”

Did this man go around introducing himself to anyone who made eye contact? Booker shook his proffered hand. “Sebastien. People call me Booker.”

“Oh.” There was a twinkle in Joe’s dark eyes as he looked around their current surroundings. “Do you work here?”

“No. I just…I like books” he said weakly. There was movement outside the window and he nearly gasped aloud, spying Nicky on his way.

“I was just about to get some coffee at the café upstairs,” he said quickly. “Would you like to join me?”

Joe’s face lit up. “I’d love to.”

They made it upstairs just in time to avoid being seen. Booker sent Joe to get coffee and cake while he kept an eye on Nicky, watching him walk straight up to the book. He brought it to the desk and spoke to the proprietor, who ducked down and came back up with some wrapping paper.

Booker felt an uneasy twist in his stomach as he watched the book being carefully wrapped and tied with a ribbon, clearly intended as a gift.

“Here you are” Joe said cheerfully. Booker immediately turned and gave his full attention to the other man. He was bearing a tray with coffee and overflowing with buns.

“I didn’t know what kind to get so I got one of each,” he explained. “I’ll eat whatever you don’t.”

Booker had never met anyone who talked as much as Joe. Andy was the best conversationalist of his friends and even she preferred to spend time with them in companionable silence. He and Nicky were almost mute without her. He sipped his coffee and let the words flow past him, Joe seemingly failing to notice that Booker was offering as little as possible about himself, answering only direct questions with short responses.

“I’m from Tunisia, but I went to university in Cairo and did my Master’s in the Netherlands. I only moved here about a month ago. I’m working in this little art gallery in Kensington now. Do you know it? Well, it’s very small. Aside from the owner, I’m the only staff member. We sell paintings from up and coming artists. I hope one day I’ll get to sell my own paintings. That’s what my degree was in, Fine Arts. Do you want to see some of my work?”

He pulled out his phone and flicked through the photo gallery, passing it over to Booker. He politely nodded and made approving sounds at the colourful portraits and admittedly impressive landscapes.

“Did you go to university?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, I did economics.”

“In Paris or in London?”

“London.”

Joe nodded thoughtfully, putting his phone away. He leaned forward as if he was about to share a secret. “Do you like London?”

Booker shrugged. “There is a lot to do,” he said carefully. “But living here is so exhausting that I end up never doing any of it. Enjoy it while you still have the energy for it.”

Joe frowned, unhappy with that assessment. “What about the people?”

“I don’t know. I don’t talk to Londoners. All of my friends were fellow international students at my university.”

“Oh,” Joe looked down sadly. “I’ve been trying to make friends since I got here, but no-one seems willing to talk. You’re the first person I’ve had a real conversation with since I moved here.”

Booker felt sorry for him. He saw his past self in Joe, when he first arrived in England and was swamped by loneliness. He’d clung onto the Study Abroad coordinator, Copley, until he’d been called into the office and Copley told him that one of his fellow students- a girl from Greece- had heard that he wasn’t settling in well and that she wanted to set up a meeting to see if they could get along. In hindsight that had probably been a bunch of bullshit to get rid of him, but Booker had been so pleased that someone wanted to know him that he’d bought the story hook line and sinker.

“I know what that’s like,” he admitted. “What kind of things do you like to do?”

“Aside from art? I love reading, cooking, football…”

“Football?” Booker seized upon the word. He had been feeling a painful twinge in his gut at hearing Joe recite the kind of things Nicky enjoyed, but this he could work with. No-one else shared his passion for the sport. “Do you watch the Champions League?”

Joe nodded. “I love it.”

It took a few more minutes of back-and-forth, exchanging the names of clubs, before they realised that there were two Champions Leagues- UEFA and CAF. Fortunately Joe had watched plenty of UEFA so he recognised the names. Booker was less familiar with ES Tunis and Al Ahly, but Joe soon set him right.

They passed more than an hour eagerly discussing league tables and points, important matches and who the best teams in Europe and Africa were. When Joe finally looked at his watch and apologised for eating up Booker’s afternoon, he had completely forgotten about Nicky.

Joe gave his phone number before he left, writing it on a corner of his sketchbook and tearing it out. Booker looked at it for a long time before pulling out his phone and texting it.

**This is my number.**

**Thanks** , Joe’s response came back within a minute. **It was nice to meet you.**

**You too.**

**Maybe destiny is pushing us together :D**

Booker hated himself a little as he walked home. Annoyingly he could already see how well Joe and Nicky would get along if they met- Joe’s easy confidence could bring Nicky Mouse out of his quiet shell, and Nicky’s kind heart and endless patience would be perfect for Joe’s ravenous need to talk. When he had expressed gratitude at meeting a friendly face, Booker had been tempted to say that there was a far greater friend out there for him, but he hadn’t. And he wasn’t going to. If Joe ever met Nicky, Booker would be unable to compete and would be dropped like a hot potato. No, right now Booker was his only friend and even if that made him a selfish bastard, he planned to keep it that way.


	5. Friday

**Friday**

_At first all he saw was darkness, and then his eyes adjusted to the flickering light of a cinema screen, and he saw Joe sitting in the back row. A few steps closer and he saw Nicky two seats away. They were the only people in that row. Joe said something, a remark about the movie, since he didn’t take his eyes away from the screen. Nicky responded and Joe turned, apparently noticing him for the first time. He grinned and replied. Nicky gave a small smile in return and spoke again. It kept going on like that, the two of them falling into conversation. At first they still referred back to the screen, but eventually they stopped paying attention to the movie entirely and leaned over the armrests to get closer to each other. Their eyes were so intently focused on each other and they were speaking so quietly – he could tell by the movement of their lips – that it became too intimate to bear and Booker had to turn away._

He woke up swearing, throwing a pillow at the wall. Fate must be getting angry at his constant meddling and was punishing him with increasingly explicit suggestions for how it planned to take his friends away.

He grabbed his phone before he even got out of bed. The happy greeting on the other end indicated that Joe had started his day hours ago.

“Hey Joe, do you have any plans?” Booker asked casually.

“Not really. I was going to see if there are any good movies in the cinema right now.”

Booker bit his lip hard. “Have you ever heard of Arsenal?”

“They’re an English football club. My boss likes them.”

“They’re playing Everton today. Do you want to come down to the pub and watch the match?”

“With you?”

“Yeah, I’m going anyway. I just wondered if you’d be interested.”

“Okay. It sounds like fun” Joe agreed.

They met at the pub near Booker’s flat, a necessary choice as he rarely managed to leave the watering hole on steady legs. Joe watched the match from a neutral standpoint at first, clapping whenever any team scored a goal, until Booker grabbed his sleeve and whispered that the pub was full of Arsenal supporters and it would be best to follow their lead.

“They are the ones in red, right?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, red” Joe declared gamely.

Arsenal pulled ahead of Everton and the whole pub erupted in cheers, several deep voices beginning to sing a variety of bawdy songs. Joe kept grinning throughout and waved his hands as if he was conducting an orchestra. Booker hoped his English wasn’t good enough to pick out the local slang.

Their night came to an end when a few lonely Everton supporters took offence to the singing and started firing back insults of their own. Booker drained his third beer, encouraged Joe to finish the one that he was still nursing, and they retreated before the shouting match could escalate.

“Thank you for inviting me, Booker. This was fun” Joe said as they walked along the street.

“I’m glad.”

He was happy that he’d had a good time. Out in the cold air and the darkness of an English autumn, Booker was starting to lose his buzz. A little voice whispered that Joe knew nothing about Arsenal or Everton. He could so easily have been bored. Hell, who was to say he hadn’t been bored and raised a smile for Booker’s sake? He had only come because he was invited after all, because he would prefer to stand in the cold with his new friend than go to the cinema alone.

Booker followed him into the Tube station and leaned against the wall as Joe, more sober than he was yet still squinting, looked up to see when the next train was coming.

“Are you going to be okay getting home?” Joe asked.

“Will you?” Booker retorted. “I’m five minutes away.”

“I will be fine. The station is only twenty minutes away from my home.”

_Twenty minutes._ The number rolled around Booker’s head as he waved goodbye and wandered towards the door. He turned just before stepping outside and could only see the back of a curly head walking away down the tunnel, entirely alone.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and froze at the sight of three missed calls from Nicky, almost tripping as he caught his foot on a paving slab. He quickly pressed his back to the damp wall and redialled, his hands shaking so much that he was barely able to hold onto the phone. Why would Nicky call him three times unless something bad had happened? Was it him or Andy? What if he’d figured something out and wanted to kick Booker’s ass?

The phone clicked.

“Hi Booker, where are you?” Nicky asked. He sounded faintly worried, but Booker hoped that was a sign that nothing too disastrous had happened.

“In the Tube station near my house. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I called by earlier and you weren’t in. When you didn’t pick up, I wondered if you were okay.”

“Oh.” Booker breathed out all the air in his lungs. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just went to the pub.”

There was the slightest pause before Nicky spoke. “That’s good. At least you’re getting out of the house.”

Booker chuckled. “Yeah, it made a change to watch a football match in company.”

“Did you go with someone?”

He stiffened in panic. Maybe it would harmless to mention that he met Joe at the pub or something, but no, Nicky might be interested and want to meet him. That could never happen.

“Uh, no. I just mean…Being in the pub with people. It was less lonely, you know.”

“Yeah,” Nicky said sympathetically. “I was at the cinema tonight and there was hardly anyone else there. Being in a crowd just feels better even if it isn’t possible to talk to anyone, right?”

“Right,” Booker agreed, feeling his heart ache. “So was the movie any good?”

“Oh, it was crap,” Nicky said. “Total waste of money. Anyway, I’m glad one of us had a good night. Safe home, Book.”

“Wait, did you want me for anything?” Booker asked. “Is that why you called by the house?”

“I wanted to give you something, but don't worry, it’s nothing important. I’ll see you when our schedules align.”

Nicky hung up and Booker put the phone into his pocket, staring ahead for a few seconds, before forcing his feet to move and bring him home.

He felt like a piece of shit on a shoe.


	6. Saturday

**Saturday**

His head was spinning when he woke up, having enough strength only to roll over and press his face into the pillow in hopes of relief.

Last night’s dream had been bizarre. There was no action, no first meeting. All he saw was Joe and Nicky sitting on either side of a table, drinking coffee. How could they be sitting together when they didn’t know each other yet? He couldn’t even tell where they were and felt more afraid than he had since the first dream. What if this was a sign that his interference wouldn’t be tolerated anymore? The dreams had robbed him of any information he could use to change the day’s events. It was a clear declaration that they were going to meet today, whether he wanted it or not.

He crawled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom, sitting down on the toilet seat and rubbing his head. Maybe he shouldn’t interfere today. Really, how long could he keep this up? Would he spend the rest of his life running around after dreams, trying to keep Joe and Nicky apart, or would they eventually stop of their own accord? Would he eventually run down the clock and deprive them of the chance to meet at all? Was there a chance that they would find out what he’d done somewhere down the line and hate him for it? None of those possibilities sounded great.

And then he thought of how he’d seen Nicky more often in the past few days than he had in months. On top of that, he had found another friend in Joe. For once he didn’t feel weighed down by the uselessness of being alive. He loved spending time with them, even if he knew that they weren’t _meant_ to spend time with him. He was merely the chosen vessel to bring them together. Why him? Why couldn’t these dreams tell him where _his_ love could be found?

He felt shitty about what he was doing, but suddenly he was more determined than ever to keep them apart. It had been hard enough to lose Andy. Being abandoned by two friends at once would mean the end of him and his liver.

He went into his bedroom and picked up the phone.

“Ciao Nicky. Are you busy today?”

“I have a lot of ironing to do” Nicky replied, like the responsible adult that he didn’t have to pretend to be.

“Do you want to come over and have a Pixar marathon?”

This had been a Saturday night tradition when Andy and Quynh first started dating. The girls would go out and the boys would settle in the living room, watching four movies in a row and eating whatever recipe Nicky was trying that week. He was shamelessly fond of Pixar and having him in the flat was the only sure-fire way that Booker could think of to stop yet another meeting.

“Sure,” Nicky agreed. “I look forward to seeing you.”

He arrived forty minutes later. Booker was moving his junk out of the living room, endeavouring to appease his house-proud friend’s sensitivities, when the doorbell rang. He opened the door and didn’t need to feign surprise when Nicky presented him with a wrapped parcel.

“What’s this?” he asked, turning it over in his hands. It was rectangular with sharp corners. He knew what it was. He had watched its purchase.

“I saw it a few weeks ago and I know how you like old books” Nicky explained.

“It’s not my birthday or anything, is it?”

He smiled. “No, Book. I just thought you would like it. It’s to cheer you up since your first class flight was cancelled. It’s not a first edition, those were too expensive, but it is original.”

Booker looked at him, dumbfounded, and felt a very unwelcome realisation. He had always known that Nicky was good, but not the kind of good that remembered an old conversation and bought an expensive gift to make up for it. Booker had long ago forgotten about that flight. It struck hard to discover that Nicky had spent all this time hunting for something that could cheer him up, while he had been sneaking around behind his back and sabotaging things because he was afraid of being left behind if his friend found someone that he liked more.

“Thanks,” he said, directing Nicky towards the living room. “Go in and pick whatever movie you want to start with.”

He closed the door and tore off the paper, letting it fall to the ground as he carefully cracked open the cover. It was an 1886 edition including original illustrations, still in good condition with only minor chips in the spine.

He dragged his feet back into the living room, where Nicky was going through his DVD cases. Booker was probably the only person in the world who didn’t have Netflix by now. Why would he spend money on a subscription fee for a service he would rarely use? A single payment on a DVD allowed him to own films forever.

“This is great, Nicky. Thanks.”

“Prego.”

He smiled and took a breath. One last chance to back out. “Would it be okay if I invited someone else round?”

“Who?” Nicky asked curiously.

“His name is Joe. He’s from Tunisia and he just moved here. He wants to find people to make friends with.”

Nicky’s expression softened and Booker knew that was all he needed to hear. “Will we start one of the movies before he gets here?” he suggested.

“Monsters Inc?”

“Fine. I’ll get the snacks ready.”

Nicky jumped up and went into the kitchen. Booker was no chef, but his treat drawer was always well-stocked, even if there were no other meals in the house.

He sighed and picked up his phone, feeling his heart squeeze painfully as he dialled.

“Hi Booker” Joe greeted him.

“Hi,” he said. “Listen, are you free to come over? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”


	7. Sunday

**Sunday**

Booker could feel that something was unusual even before he opened his eyes. No dreams, his sleepy mind thought. His head had been empty all night and he felt a stone of sadness settling into his heart at the implications of that. And then he opened his eyes and realised, no, the unusual thing was that he was lying on the floor.

His neck was cushioned and when he sat up, he found that a pillow had been placed under him and a blanket had been put over him. He frowned, looking around his living room. The TV was off. The bowls of chips and salsa, cheese and crackers, had been cleared away.

The last thing he remembered was turning his head, in the middle of _The Incredibles_ , and seeing that Joe had stretched his arm over the back of the sofa behind Nicky. Booker was tired already by that point, but seeing that had convinced him to lie down on the floor and close his eyes for a few moments. Apparently he’d slept through the night like that.

He groaned and got to his feet, shambling into the kitchen, and then paused at the sight before him. Joe and Nicky were still here, sitting on either side of the table and nursing cups of coffee. Nicky smiled at the sight of Booker and got up.

“Time for breakfast?” he asked. “What do you feel like?”

“Did you guys sleep here last night?” Booker asked instead.

“Is that okay?” Joe asked worriedly. “It was pretty late and Nicky said there was no need to go home in the dark. He said you wouldn’t mind.”

Booker looked at his friend and found himself caught in a stern glare. “No, it’s fine,” he muttered. “Where did you sleep? There’s only one bed here.”

_Good God, there was no way they actually…_

“Nicky took your bed,” Joe said. “Sorry we left you on the floor, but you were really out for the count. I stayed on the sofa.”

“It was probably more comfortable,” Nicky remarked. “You need a new mattress, Booker. Your bedsprings dug into my ribcage all night.”

“Yeah, it’s on the list” he said, finally coming into the kitchen and dropping into the seat that Nicky had vacated.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

“Sure.” He suddenly closed his eyes, remembering. “I forgot to buy bread. Just cereal is fine. Throw the box at me.”

Nicky took the box from atop the fridge and mimed throwing it like a javelin at Booker’s head, before setting it on the table.

“We have a busy day today” he said.

“What?” Booker frowned, starting to pour cereal.

Nicky counted the items on his fingers. “We have to buy bread, buy a new mattress…”

“We can go to Ikea. That’ll be fun” Joe added, sitting back and clasping his hands behind his head. The grin on his face suggested it would not be the most pleasant kind of fun.

“Who’s we?” Booker asked.

“The three of us,” Nicky answered. “We’re here anyway. We might as well do something. I have only ironing to go back to.”

“And we can watch the football later, so there’s actually something to look forward to” Joe said.

Booker looked at him and then at the back of Nicky’s head. He felt a smile tug at one corner of his mouth. “I didn’t know Nicky liked football” he remarked innocently.

“I don’t mind it” the Italian replied, equally innocently.

“Really? Who’s your favourite team?”

He heard the second of panicked silence before Nicky said, “Barcelona.”

“Oh, they’re good. I love the colour of their home kit” Joe said approvingly, and Nicky’s shoulders relaxed.

“The best reason to support a football team is for their fashion sense” Booker remarked. Joe simply laughed.

“Well, that works out great,” he said. “It’s Barcelona v. PSG today, your team and our team. We should make a date of it. I pledge to explain the offside rule and feed you afterwards” he added, pressing a hand to his heart and looking straight at Nicky.

“Nicky’s a great cook. He could feed us” Booker suggested.

“Do you like pasta dishes?” Nicky asked hopefully.

“I would love to try some,” Joe agreed. “But for tonight, I was thinking of a great Turkish restaurant near my place. How do you feel about spicy food?”

Booker looked curiously at Nicky, whose milky-mild tastebuds were capable of choking on pepper.

“I haven’t tried much spicy food, but I’d be willing to give it a go” he said bravely. Joe beamed at him.

“So, uh, am I invited to the Turkish place or is this a dinner for two?” Booker asked. He might as well get this out in the open.

They both froze like a pair of deer in headlights, looking at each other.

“Oh, sorry Booker…” Joe began.

“It’s just me and Joe who are going” Nicky said.

“That’s fair,” Booker conceded, poking his bowl with his spoon. It was time to let them go and return to isolation. It had been a decent few years while they lasted. “I knew this would happen.”

“Really?” Joe chuckled. “And I thought I was so subtle.”

He had been subtle, compared to Nicky who froze up when Joe sat next to him and kept looking at him throughout every movie they watched. Joe had displayed his usual easy confidence, commentating on the amusing parts of the films in a way that was never intrusive, and in fact only added to the enjoyment. Booker had been having such fun up until _Wall-E_ , their third film of the night, when he realised how focused Joe was on Nicky, how eager he looked to see him smiling. Only then did he realise that Joe had been trying to make Nicky laugh all along.

“Don’t look sad,” Joe teased, nudging his elbow. “We’ve got the whole afternoon and half the evening together. Are you going to miss us?”

“No.”

“Joe, does that Turkish place need a reservation?” Nicky asked, cutting into the conversation.

“I’ve never needed one, but…” Joe paused thoughtfully. “You’re right, better safe than sorry.”

“Go phone them.”

Joe got up and walked out of the kitchen. Nicky dropped into his chair, directly across from Booker, who looked at him warily. Nicky was gazing at him like he was a puzzle and Booker was reminded of a police interrogator.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Joe?” Nicky asked.

“I only met him this week.”

“Yes, pretending to be a tourist lost in a Tube station that is nowhere near your house.”

Booker stared dumbly. “Ah…Yeah, I got a bit lost. I panicked, fell back into French. I didn’t expect to see him again.”

Nicky frowned at him. “You were at the bookshop the next day,” he accused. “Joe said you almost dragged him upstairs for coffee. You took three months to tell me your real name and you grabbed a stranger for coffee out of the blue? That was Thursday, the same day when I went to buy your gift on my lunch break.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“You were at the pub with him and didn’t tell me when I asked.”

“It slipped my mind,” Booker retorted. “Did you guys do nothing but talk about me last night?”

“You were briefly mentioned,” Nicky said. “Apparently Joe goes to the same coffee shop as me. I asked how he coped with the blackout last Monday and can you imagine what he said?”

“No, I can’t, because I can’t read minds” Booker replied. Deny, deny, deny was the only way out. He couldn’t believe that he might actually lose everything because he tried to be good.

Nicky reached across the table and, to Booker’s surprise, held his hand. “I don’t know if this is all a massive coincidence and I’m creating conspiracy theories out of nothing,” he said. “But I think it’s important that I say this. Andy leaving was hard, I know, but it wasn’t because of Quynh. Okay?”

Booker turned away from his earnest eyes.

“We are friends, Booker, you and me and Joe. This will continue as long as you are a good friend to us.”

Booker cleared his throat. “Yeah, as long as you guys don’t start making out in front of me” he muttered.

Nicky lightly slapped his hand and stood up. “Do not worry,” he remarked. “Thank you for introducing us.”

“Dinner is set for 10pm tonight,” Joe announced triumphantly, returning to the kitchen. “That should leave us enough time to do everything.”

“We need to buy milk as well. This is sour, Booker” Nicky scolded, holding up the tiny carton.

“I’ll eat it dry, relax,” he said. “Maybe there will be advantages to having you distracted.”

“You’re a disaster,” Joe chuckled. “Just as well you have us.”

He scoffed and looked down to hide a smile. “Yeah, just as well I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading along and commenting. Comments are always the greatest motivation to write the next chapter, and hearing people's reactions was a great help in guiding this story, so a big hug to you guys. Please let me know what you thought of the conclusion and have a good day :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please kudos and comment if you enjoyed. Have a nice day.


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